My mirror cries, my mirror sighs
But mine are dry, too dry to cry...

If love is equal to the fame it claims;
To fame it has no great monogamy...

The grey-white sky does not depress my view:
Most beautiful of things do turn to grey...

When I compare my frame to other men:
I weep, and mirror's glass weeps for me too...

To whom would rush a wound from love, with love:
Let take a caution deep where your wound bleeds...

Take all the light until i'm out and deep
That I may linger where you rest in me...

When mind's own memoirs wither down to bone
then whom shall know my love in distant years...

When I shall die, in spring I will return
in budding maze of rainbow flowered plush...

It seems that rain drops are tear drops,
the downpour from the arborists' spree...

Cannot sleep. Stillness not an option. The time of...
Living so close to an abundance of life, amazing...

Confession, me? Could I repent my time
And weary be, my pupils then to see...

Scouring walls
sanding hands...